The ramblings of Author J.G. Gatewood

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Short Story – Page 2

Here is the second page of the short story. Please keep in mind that I am still editing this and making adjustments as I go along.

Page 2

The room felt more comfortable and the warmth returned to his body, drying his clothes as the temperature increased. He knew you were never supposed to run a propane powered device inside a home, but what did he care if it blew up. No. He thought. I started this. I have to finish it.

He walked back to the table and sat down. Feeling angry with himself, and overwhelmed by the grief resulting from the loss of his wife and two children, he started to cry. They were his world and his whole reason for existing. Without them he felt lost and empty inside. The pit of his stomach churned, upset by the feelings coursing through his mind.

He had to shake them off, though. He had something that he needed to accomplish. This is all my fault, and I have to rectify it. He reached to his shoulder harness and pulled out his two Beretta M9s. He then dug into his coat pocket to find the spare magazines he carried. He had three of them with fifteen rounds a piece, plus the two loaded magazines in the guns. He set them on the table before digging in the box. He pulled out the two Glock 22s that he pulled off a dead officer earlier in the day. He hadn’t been able to find any more magazines on the officer, meaning he had 105 shots total. I just hope it will be enough.

On the counter he had a cleaning kit, so he grabbed it and proceeded to clean and oil all four weapons. Seeing as how the Glocks belonged to someone else, he wanted to examine them more closely so he would know if he could trust them when the time came.

The time quickly slipped by, and the distraction of cleaning the guns did its trick, but he knew he had to be on his way soon. He had things to do, and a short period-of-time to accomplish it. Tomorrow would be too late, he had to do this today.

Satisfied all of the guns met with his approval, and he would be able to trust them in a bind, he admired them as they sat on his table. He reflected a little while longer on his loss, before he toured his home one last time. He savored the moment for as long as it lasted. His family had lived in this home for ten years. Ten years of memories was difficult to give up. He looked at his bed, where he made love to his wife for the first, and many more times. He stared at the living room floor where both of his children had taken their first steps. Tears welled up in his eyes, before trickling down his cheeks. He wiped them away and shook his head to clear the flood of emotions flowing through his body. There was no time to dwell any longer.